Montserrat

Montserrat, molt català. Reminds me of this song:

Bilb(a)o Baggins

Much like Valencia (the previous program-organized trip destination), Bilbao remains a bit of a mystery to me. It was at least a seven-hour bus ride each way, and a lot of our time was spent traveling on that bus to random towns on the outskirts of Bilbao proper, with little time in the city itself. That said, I got to eat pintxos and hear Euskara (the Basque language that sounds like no other Indo-European tongue), the clear keys to a País Vasco cultural experience.

A "crew" boat. 

The views of the coast were worth the nauseating bus ride through the mountains. These photos were taken through the window of a bus -- just imagine how beautiful it really is.

Our scheduled "tour of a nuclear power plant" turned out to be a casual drive-by -- here it is, from hundreds of yards away, through the bus window:

Johnathan posed with this cereal box in every photo.

Euskara! 

The Guggenheim:

Our program didn't pay for us to enter the museum (although the exterior is clearly the real incentive to visit), but they did pay for us to go to a random town...

... and take an elaborate tour of the vineyard there ...

... that ended in a wine tasting. Typical CASB! Es lo que hay, right?

La plus belle ville du monde

In late April of this year, I was fully enrolled in a program to study in Paris. I had been studying French at Columbia; I had already spent a bit of time in Spain; it seemed like the natural thing to do. I don't really know what inspired me to neurotically change my mind (way later than I should have), but I suddenly decided that Spain was the place for me. I frantically explained my situation to the study abroad staff at Columbia, definitely cried a little (I was stressed?); a kind woman in the office may or may not have suggested that I pay a visit to psych services. In the end, though, I was able to switch to the Barcelona program. I think part of my motivation was the deep frustration I'd been feeling in my Spanish classes -- in the upper level courses, the majority of the class are "heritage speakers." I absolutely hated speaking in class with my broken Spanish. If I chose to study in Spain, I'd finally achieve a level of proficiency (fluency is a stretch) that I could be proud of after so many years of grammar exercises, verb conjugations, vocab flashcards and composiciones.

As it turns out, I still don't speak Spanish that well, but I have learned a thing or two. My French, on the other hand, is more than a little rusty -- one frustration of my trip to Paris last weekend. (By the way, it is so incredibly frustrating when people insist on speaking to you in English when you try to speak the native language -- it happens to me a lot in Spain, since I look so horribly American. I've gotten used to it, though, and I just keep going with Spanish until they believe that I can, in fact, communicate.) Another frustration was trying to get anything done in a group of seven (nine, when you add in the two friends of mine that met us from London). We bickered a bit (hunger is an amazingly powerful thing), but we managed to see quite a lot.

Our flight got in late Friday night, delayed a bit because of rain (!!) in Barcelona. Waiting in the airport, we didn't quite no what to do with ourselves...

Our hotel wasn't the nicest, but the location was great (in the heart of the Latin Quarter, five minutes from Notre Dame). Plus, it wasn't a hostel -- the White Tulip really gave me a new appreciation for anything with a private bathroom.

Saturday morning, we indulged in our first of many crepes. The Sorbonne was on our way.

Our plan was to head to the Notre Dame first, since a few of the group had never seen it. On the way, we happened to pass by another church and decided to check it out.

Turns out, Saint-Séverin is one of the oldest churches on the Left Bank. According to its website, it was pretty awkwardly competing with that other gothic structure down the street for a while, but there's only room for one gothic cathedral in these parts (as the old saying goes).

Unquestionably my favorite sign in Paris.

Paid two euros to see this Jesus bling...worth it?

The inside of the cathedral is remarkable -- there's no denying that. The extent to which it has been commercialized, though, is disturbing, and for me things like the coin machines (above) detracted from the experience. I understand that the Notre Dame is a huge tourist trap, but I feel like a space like this one deserves a different level of respect given its symbolic importance to so many people. I went to high school at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC, where I was quickly conditioned 1) to take completely for granted the beautiful structure situated a mere hundred feet from my classrooms, and 2) to accept tourists as a sort of strange but constant presence. Despite the huge influx of visitors, the National Cathedral has yet to sell its soul and adopt coin machines. Not saying that one is better than the other, but just saying.

We left the Notre Dame and I dragged everyone to Île Saint-Louis, fully planning on getting ice cream at Berthillon but pretending like I just happend upon it. We then walked west for a while along the Seine, with the intent of eventually arriving at some museum or other. The Seine is, like, really pretty. It's no Barcelona beach, but I guess if you're into that sort of thing...

Symbols of love; typical Paris.

We ended up in the Tuileries Garden, which was cool but not quite as impressive as I remember it being in the Spring. 

I then accidentally led everyone to the Jeu de Paume, a museum right in the gardens, under the pretense of seeing the famous water lilies. In reality, the main exhibition at the Jeu de Paume was the work of the American photographer Diane Arbus -- Monet can be found just across the way at l'Orangerie. Oops.

I was pretty happy with the mistake -- I'll take a good photography exhibit any day, and I'm a big fan of Diane Arbus. The Monet-seekers were less than thrilled, though, so we hastily walked through the exhibit to get on to more "Parisy" things. For example, the Arc de Triomphe...

and the Tour Eiffel.

Views from the top.

Sundays are quite slow in France, and a lot of attractions are closed. We found plenty to do though, starting with the Pompidou. I could easily spend days in this place -- beyond the sheer size, the type of art is just my cup of tea.

Clown outside the Pompidou. 

Views from the fifth (I think?) floor. 

The main collection is incredible, but I was particularly drawn to one of the temporary exhibitions: the work of Yayoi Kusama. Dots everywhere, across media that ranged from full rooms to canvases to the artist herself.

We spent the afternoon in le Marais. Awesome neighborhood. We got the "best falafel in the world."

Their slogan: "Always imitated, never equaled." Questionable.

We finished off the day with a trip to Montmartre and the Sacré-Coeur, arriving just as the sun was setting.

(For you, Mrs. Crnkovic). 

And somehow, we ended up at a fondue restaurant that serves wine in baby bottles, leading me to seriously question my decision to study elsewhere. Vive la France!